


Masquerade

by TheDVirus



Category: Gotham (TV), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe - Phantom of the Opera Fusion, Alternate Universe - Theatre, F/M, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, M/M, Male Slash, Mentor/Protégé, Murder, Musical References, Musicals, Nygmobblepot, Nygmobblepot Week 2017, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 15:02:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10337206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDVirus/pseuds/TheDVirus
Summary: Fifth Fic for Nygmobblepot Week 2017, Prompt: 'AU/Crossover'.Crossover with Andrew Lloyd Webber's 'Phantom of the Opera'.Ed finds himself propelled to stardom after a chance encounter with the mysterious 'Phantom' that haunts Gotham Grand Opera House. But could the price of fame prove too high to pay?





	

Ed sighed heavily as he emptied the dustpan into a trashcan and resumed sweeping the stage. He sang to himself as he worked to pass the time.  
He had come to Gotham to become an actor but most of the ‘stage craft’ he had done since arriving at the Gotham Grand Opera House six months ago was painting scenery and cleaning up after performances. He didn’t count the couple of times he had performed in the chorus line: those empty roles were unworthy of him. You were little more than a piece of moving scenery designed to bring life to wooden backdrops and provide support to the main cast as they soaked up the glory.  
He hadn’t expected to break out right away but it was only after observing the others that he realised his lack of formal training was holding him back. By his calculations he would have to work months before being able to afford even the most basic lessons.  
He was trying not to get discouraged but it was hard not to when your Friday nights consisted of washing other people’s tights.  
He jumped as he heard a noise above him but his fear was tempered by excitement.

Maybe he would finally see him!  
The mysterious ‘Phantom of the Opera’!  
Ed loved a good mystery and had been delighted to discover the gigantic opera house had its very own ghost. A cloaked and masked figure who would appear mysteriously and vanish without a trace. He insisted that the managers keep Box Five empty for his use at all times and it was even rumoured that they paid him a ‘salary’ to prevent any ‘mishaps’. Thus, Ed had concluded the figure spoken of in hushed tones was not a ghost at all but a master manipulator who used smoke and mirrors to make himself a legend within the walls.  
Ed admired that.  
Another noise made him more cautious and he stopped sweeping so he could listen to his surroundings better.  
He needn’t have bothered.

A black shape fell straight down into a pile of stage curtains ready to be cleaned. Ed yelped and jumped back, startled by the sudden impact. Dust from the curtains flew into the air and whirled about in the dim gloom of backstage.  
Hesitantly, Ed walked towards the curtains, broom raised as a makeshift weapon.  
He could see a black shape stirring and his eyes widened as it made an odd whimpering noise.  
A pained noise.  
Ed reached down with shaking hands and pulled the figure’s cloak back, uncovering its face. A white bird like mask covered the top half of his face. The beak like protrusion shone in the darkness.  
As did the fever bright green eyes glaring up at him out of the mask’s sockets.  
The creature snarled at him and swung a gloved fist but as it tried to rise, it shouted in pain and fell back, clutching its knee. It breathed harshly, cheeks puffing as it grasped the joint.  
Ed realised it must have been damaged in the fall from the rafters above and realised in the same moment who the masked figure was.  
Who it must be.

‘The Phantom’, he breathed in wonder.

Hearing his name, The Phantom finally looked at Ed properly.  
Ed’s eyes narrowed as he saw the sweat sliding down The Phantom’s cheek and the colour draining from his face.

‘Help me’, The Phantom begged, ‘Please’.

And with that desperate plea, The Phantom slipped into unconsciousness.

‘Oh dear’, Ed fretted, wondering what to do.

The right thing to do was to call the police, the illogical yet understandable thing to do was run away screaming and yet Ed couldn’t bring himself to do either.  
It wasn’t every day a living legend fell out of the sky and asked you for help. It was obvious from the way his knee was twisted that The Phantom wasn’t going anywhere.

Ed made up his mind and carefully began to lift The Phantom.  
As he made for the back stairs, planning to hide The Phantom in his room, rumours of what The Phantom was capable of began to swirl around in his head.  
No manager of the opera house lasted more than three years. He could hear everything that transpired within the walls. People that mocked him or decried his legend were punished in awful ways. He had murdered people…

Ed swallowed and focused on the one rumour that had convinced him to pursue this course of action.  
The rumour that The Phantom was a master musician and was willing to bestow his secrets should the right person present themselves…

 

**  
The Phantom awoke in a bed that was not his own. As he blinked blearily, he saw he was in one of the many dormitories assigned to staff of the opera house.  
He felt his knee ache and remembered the fall from the heavens. He slapped his own forehead in frustration, almost relishing the headache that ensued.  
He deserved it for being so stupid!  
This is what happened when he deviated from his nightly patrol of his kingdom to follow a mysterious voice. It had been a good voice, tuneful yet untrained but with a great deal of emotion behind it.  
He had been kneeling down on a platform above the stage trying to see who it belonged to when it had given way beneath him.  
The last memory he had was of the voice’s owner, looking down at him.

As he glanced around the small room, he realised the owner was in the room with him. He gave a start and tried to sit up but his head swam and he fell back onto the pillow. In the same moment, his cheeks coloured as he realised he was naked. Thankfully his mask was still in place.

‘Where are my clothes?!’ he demanded hoarsely.

‘I had them cleaned’, the singer replied before adding, ‘I’m Edward Nygma. I know who you are’.

‘And yet you haven’t called the GCPD’, The Phantom said, gasping in pain as he tried to put weight on his leg.

‘Oh no!’ Ed said, hastily tucking The Phantom back beneath the covers, ‘Don’t put weight on it! You hurt your knee in that fall. Why were you up there anyway?’

The Phantom didn’t answer and Ed waved a hand unconcernedly. 

‘It’s fine. You don’t have to answer but please rest. Believe me when I say I have no ill intentions towards you at all’.

He offered The Phantom a glass of water which he accepted and gulped down.

‘Then what are your intentions?’ The Phantom challenged, wiping his mouth, ‘I find it hard to believe you saved me out of kindness’.

‘Well, I did have another reason. For saving you I mean. I-I um-I need some singing lessons’.

The Phantom had stared at him for a long time then finally replied.

‘What?’

 

**  
Two weeks.  
Two weeks since Ed had awoken to find The Phantom gone. Despite the limp he now endured due to the knee damage, he had managed to slip out sometime during the night.  
He hadn’t even said ‘goodbye’ or ‘thank you’, never mind offered any singing lessons.  
Ed supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised but he had hoped…  
Distracted by his musings, he nearly knocked a vase off a nearby table. Stooping hastily to catch it, he breathed in relief when he saw it was undamaged.  
Kristen Kringle’s room was immaculate and filled with expensive tributes from admiring fans. It was to be expected for the lead soprano and the opera house’s number one star. Ed was grateful for being given the task of cleaning it but he did wish sometimes there were fewer delicate objects to polish.

‘Everything alright back there?’ Kristen asked, from her seat behind him.

She was fixing her hair in front of her vanity mirror.

‘Right as rain’, Ed replied cheerily.

The door opened and Ed’s expression soured as he heard Tom Dougherty, Kristen’s lover and co-star enter. He went to Kristen and whispered something in her ear. Ed saw Kristen’s shoulders droop as she muttered a reply. 

If he strained, he could just about make out the words: ‘course I forgive you’.

Ed wrung the rag he was holding and pretended it was Dougherty’s neck.  
Everyone whispered about what he did to Kristen, his drunken rages and his numerous other women but nobody would say anything! But Ed had seen the bruises, had found the bloodstained bandages while emptying Kristen’s wastebasket and accidentally come in once to find her crying. She wouldn’t explain why, just pulled down her sleeves to hide some nasty looking bruises.  
It made Ed furious.

As did the realization he could do nothing about it. There was nobody who could take Dougherty’s place in the cast and Ed knew he didn’t stand a chance in a fair fight. So he had resigned himself to being there for Kristen when she needed him. When she finally realised that there were better men in the world than thugs like Tom Dougherty.

‘Goodbye Mr Nygma’, Kristen said putting on her coat as she prepared to leave.

She ignored Dougherty’s offered arm and walked past him.

‘Goodnight Miss Kringle’, Ed replied, resuming his duties.

‘Don’t know why you put up with that creep’, Dougherty said to Kristen, not bothering to whisper as he closed the door, ‘I bet he peeks on you while you’re getting changed’.

Once he was sure the door was closed, Ed tore the cleaning rag in half, pretending it was Dougherty’s smug face. Muttering angrily to himself, he finished cleaning the dressing room and strode to the door, keen to return to his solitary bedroom and calm himself down.  
But the door was locked.  
He tugged on it as hard as he could until he was forced to stop, fearful the knob would break off in his hand. He pounded on it and yelled but everyone had long since gone home or to their dormitories to turn in for the night.  
He sighed heavily.

‘Great’, he muttered, giving the door one last slap for good measure, ‘Just peachy’.

He noticed the candles flicker for a brief moment and his eyes narrowed.  
There were no windows in the dressing room, so where had the wind come from?  
Then he heard it, a whispered voice, echoing eerily.

‘Look inside yourself to find the answer’.

He recognised the voice immediately.  
The Phantom!  
So he was responsible for the locked door! Heart racing with excitement, Ed applied his brain to the riddle and instantly ran to the mirror set into the dressing room wall.  
He looked at his reflection and was amazed to see it slowly morph into The Phantom’s. He beckoned Ed closer.  
Ed obeyed, walked forward and reached towards the glass.  
Only to trip on an unseen step. He fell forwards but just about caught himself before hitting the ground.  
The Phantom offered him a gloved hand and helped him stand up.  
Ed saw they were standing in a darkened, damp corridor. His eyes widened. He had heard rumours of secret tunnels in the opera house but had never imagined they would be so large! 

‘I thought that little puzzle might get your attention’, The Phantom smirked, ‘Shall we begin your lessons?’

 

**  
The next few months passed by like a dream for Ed. Every night after cleaning Kristen’s room, he would sneak down to the Phantom’s lair and spend hours practicing before sneaking back upstairs to his own room.  
The Phantom wasn’t a classical teacher, being more concerned with the emotion and language of the music rather than endlessly practicing scales. He was a capable mentor teaching Ed not only how to sing but what parts to go for, how to present himself at audition and how to behave on stage. Despite his unorthodox teaching methods, Ed followed the techniques and began to be noticed in the waking world. All of a sudden he was no longer in the chorus but playing actual named characters on stage and even received a few solos here and there.  
He always looked for The Phantom in Box 5 when he was on stage, hoping his teacher was watching but could rarely see up there due to the stage lighting.  
Regardless, The Phantom attended every performance. Ed knew because his teacher was always ready with positive feedback and notes for improvement when he next met him for a lesson.  
It was nice having someone out there watching who cared about you.  
Apart from The Phantom, he received compliments from both colleagues and the press and was recommended for other roles as a result. Things were looking up but still he was an outsider: most people found him peculiar and odd. Definitely not leading man material.  
Then came the day everything changed.

 

**  
The rumours were that Kristen had finally had enough of Dougherty and had thrown a pitcher of water over him at a restaurant the night before. Nobody knew why but everybody had a guess. Ed didn’t care what the reason was: he was just delighted at the result.  
But as a result of this public humiliation, Dougherty was refusing to act or sing alongside Kristen in the show that night.  
The show was not any ordinary show: it was the anniversary of the opera house’s founding and Bruce Wayne, the heir to the Wayne fortune and the theatre’s most prominent patron was expected to attend.  
The entire opera house staff, cast and crew, had been called to the stage to discuss solutions but none were forthcoming. Not even Ed could think of an idea.  
Tom Dougherty was the best male singer they had and many people had booked tickets purely to see he and Kristen, Gotham’s most prestigious celebrity couple, perform together.  
Silence had settled over the theatre as everyone pondered the ramifications of the situation. A full house would have to be refunded, the food for the complimentary buffet would go to waste, the negative press would be damaging and worst of all, the months that it had taken to put the show together would be utterly wasted.  
Then, suddenly, a voice had piped up.

‘Oh! Oh! Edward! Edward can do the solo!’ Gertrud, the ballet mistress had shouted.

The entire casts’ heads had turned to the slightly dotty former prima ballerina but she was undeterred by their critical stares. Everyone was too polite to decry her opinion, having been a legend in her time, but it was obvious everyone wanted someone else to say something.

‘He is so handsome when he sings all the girls feel faint in the knees!’ she gushed.

Ed had blushed scarlet and more than one lady in the crowd had displayed facial expressions that emphatically disagreed with Gertrud’s assessment of Ed’s charms.  
He had no idea how to respond to any of it. He was far from a leading man and he was becoming more and more conscious of how uncomfortable it was to have the spotlight suddenly thrust upon you. It was like being in the centre of a bullseye.  
It was true what they said: be careful what you wished for.  
Just as he had been hoping the stage would miraculously open up and swallow him whole, a lifeline suddenly appeared.

‘You can at least let him try’, a quiet yet authoritative voice said.

Ed’s breath hitched as he saw the crowd part for its owner.  
Kristen Kringle. 

‘If Tom can’t be bothered to come to work, I see no reason we can’t continue without him’, she sniffed, ‘Edward’s a good singer. I’ve heard him’.

She smiled at Ed and he was the one feeling weak at the knees.  
He silently told the little voice in his head warning him Kristen was only looking to spite Tom to shut up. He didn’t care.  
All that mattered was she was looking at him and smiling!

‘I’m sure he’ll be wonderful’, she said.

 

**  
That night, Ed did indeed take Dougherty’s place and sang in front of a full house.  
With Kristen by his side, he felt as if he weren’t really singing: it was as if some heavenly force was using him as a mouthpiece. He didn’t miss a note, every harmony was pitch perfect and at the end of his final solo, ‘Think Of Me’, the entire audience erupted with applause as they leapt to their feet.  
The best part of it though, was the way Kristen squeezed his hand as they took their bow together.

Beneath the stage, the Phantom leant his back against the damp wall of the underground tunnel and bathed in the applause echoing down from the theatre.  
He smiled beneath his mask and sighed wistfully.  
He had always known Ed would be spectacular!

 

**  
‘I’ve just realised I don’t know your name’, Ed said.

He was sharing a celebratory glass of wine with The Phantom after the performance that night. They were in what The Phantom called his ‘lair’. Hidden deep beneath the opera house, it was only reachable by a boat due to the natural lake that blocked entry. Despite being underground, it was warm and well-lit thanks to the multitude of candles that The Phantom kept burning at all times. A massive pipe organ was set into one of the stone walls, The Phantom’s favoured instrument and numerous music stands held half-finished compositions he was working on.  
Ed had realised very quickly in their association that The Phantom was a genius.  
He could write and read music, play a variety of instruments, construct trapdoors and hidden compartments, design sets, paint and sculpt.  
He could literally have done any job in the opera house and excelled at it.

‘I suppose you’ve earned it’, The Phantom replied, finishing his own glass of wine, ‘My name is Oswald’.

‘Suits you’, Ed commented and Oswald smiled.

Oswald had never appreciated how wonderful it was to have company. To finally have someone he could have conversations with about philosophy, art and culture on his own level. He had been wary of taking on a pupil but after hearing Ed’s talent just waiting to be nurtured, he couldn’t refuse his request for lessons. He was truly exceptional, able to hit notes without seeming to try and his memorization of cues and lyrics was unparalleled.  
When he sang, the angels stopped to listen.  
It was how Oswald had realised he was in love with him.  
Ed stirred something in him that nobody else ever had: a longing for the presence of another in his dark world.

‘Can I ask you something else?’ Ed asked.

Oswald heard the hesitancy in his tone and nodded.

‘If you think you’re in love, should you tell the person, even if you think they’re not interested?’ Ed asked hastily.

Oswald’s heart skipped a beat.  
Could it be? Could Ed feel the same way Oswald did?!

‘My mother always told me: ‘once you find true love, run to it’’, Oswald replied casually despite his racing heart.

Ed nodded, absorbing the information.  
That settled it.  
He would tell Kristen how he felt about her.

 

**  
Ed closed the mirror behind him and sighed happily as he entered Kristen’s dark and empty dressing room.  
The sound of a bottle falling made him jump.

‘You got a thing for my girl?’ Dougherty’s voice growled from the darkness.

Squinting, Ed saw Dougherty lounging on a chaise lounge. He stank of alcohol and Ed attributed this to the empty beer bottle lying on the floor. It obviously wasn’t Dougherty’s first of the night.

‘You trying to show me up?!’ he snapped, lurching to his feet.

Ed’s own alcohol intake emboldened him.

‘I won’t let you hurt Miss Kringle any more’, he said coldly, standing his ground.

Dougherty laughed and without warning, punched Ed in the stomach. Ed doubled up in pain and fell to his knees. He accidentally knocked over a side table, scattering the contents of a stationery set across the floor. 

‘You’re nothing!’ Dougherty snarled down at him and kicked him in the side.

Ed cried out in pain, fingers clasping as he desperately tried to rise.  
Only to feel them fasten around something.

As Dougherty yanked him to his feet, Ed took hold of the enamelled letter opener and stabbed Dougherty in the stomach.  
Dougherty gasped, eyes wide with pain and shock.  
Ed venomously repeated the motion. He savoured every stab and the warmth that gushed between his fingers. He thought about Kristen: her tears, her bruises, her sadness.  
Killing Dougherty felt just.  
It felt right.  
Dougherty died without a sound and fell back. His blood spread across the fine rug, staining the embroidered flowers red.

‘Oh dear’, Ed whispered with horror then laughed hysterically as he regarded the bloody knife in his hand.

 

**  
‘Jealousy of another’s success is an awful thing’, Oswald said.

From the bank, he and Ed watched as Dougherty’s body, wrapped in a sheet and weighed down with stones sank to the bottom of the underground lake.  
Oswald patted Ed’s shoulder and Ed nodded in gratitude.  
He hadn’t known what to do after killing Dougherty.  
So he had called on the one person who he knew he could trust.  
Oswald had come immediately and helped him dispose of the body with no more emotion than if he were taking trash out.  
Ed hadn’t wanted to admit how he felt about Kristen yet so had told Oswald Dougherty had been jealous of his success when he had taken his place.

‘Such is the price of your talent’, Oswald added, ‘You may have to come up with a cover story though’.

‘I have one’, Ed said numbly, throwing the bloodied knife into the water and preparing a mental checklist of how to clear Kristen’s room of any remaining evidence.

‘Just tell them I did it’, Oswald shrugged, ‘ I get blamed for every missing powder puff around here anyway’.

 

**  
Dougherty’s permanent disappearance was inconvenient but not shocking or unexpected.  
Dougherty had left Gotham for good, leaving Kristen nothing but a hastily typed note to remember him by.  
Kristen was hurt at first but she soon recovered and maintained her position as the lead actress of the company. But with a new leading man.  
Ed finally had everything he wanted.  
And all it had cost him was a bloodied shirt and ten minutes to type something vague on a piece of paper to set Kristen’s mind at ease.  
He had better quarters, admirers, challenging roles and applause.

But he had still not been able to pluck up the courage to tell Kristen how he felt. He hoped she knew: he still cleaned her dressing room (partly out of obligation but also to maintain the familiar entrance to Oswald’s lair) but had now added to his repertoire by carrying her bags and buying her gifts with his newfound affluence.  
Once, she had confronted him about Dougherty’s note. It seemed in his distracted state, he had inadvertently left her a dangerous clue: each sentence on the note began with a letter that spelt out his name when read downwards.  
Ed had denied it of course. He knew Kristen didn’t believe him but thankfully seemed to believe he had forced Dougherty to leave town somehow instead of leaping to the conclusion of murder. She even seemed pleased with this theory, happily posing with Ed for photographs for playbills or signing autographs at the stage door.

But there was also another problem to contend with.  
Despite his thuggish nature, Dougherty had friends within the opera house. Arnold Flass, a stagehand, was one such friend and made no secret of what he thought about Ed’s ‘promotion’.

‘A little convenient isn’t it?’ he often voiced to others when Ed was passing, ‘Nygma wants Dougherty’s girl and all of a sudden he up and vanishes and Nygma gets to fill the part?!’

Kristen told Ed to just ignore Flass. So Ed did.  
There was no point reacting to the opinions of a known drunk. Even if they were nearly entirely true.  
Besides most other people in the opera house favoured the second theory on the table.  
The Phantom, displeased with Dougherty’s performance had threatened him into leaving town or killed him and hidden his body where nobody would ever find it.  
It had happened before.  
And to much nicer people.

What worried Ed was Flass’ newest theory: obviously Ed and The Phantom were working together! 

‘Freaks of a feather flock together!’ he had proclaimed in the opera house dining hall to a host of jeers from the company and a few stern words from Kristen advising him not to say things like that about The Phantom.

'You never know who's listening', she had warned.

Despite Flass’ lack of credibility, his theory was too close to the truth for comfort and Ed had told Oswald so.  
Oswald had told Ed to leave it to him.  
Ed hadn’t dwelled on what that entailed at the time as he had been too preoccupied with that night’s performance.

Which was rudely interrupted by Arnold Flass’ hanging body being dropped from the rafters in the middle of the ballet. He gagged and spluttered as he slowly choked to death, the noose around his neck strangling him. He was dead before anyone could help him. A maniacal laugh had echoed around the hall as the managers had called for the audience to remain in their seats while they dealt with the ‘unfortunate accident’ they had all just witnessed.  
Kristen had grabbed Ed and fled with him to the roof in a panic.

‘What if The Phantom heard me?’ she asked, rubbing her arms, ‘He was an awful, awful man but he didn’t deserve that! What if what I said in the dining hall made him decide to hang-‘

Ed draped his coat around her, shivering, thin shoulders. They had fled to the roof so quickly they hadn’t even gotten out of their costumes and Kristen’s pale pink dress was no match for the snow falling around them.

‘Of course not!’ Ed said, ‘That was just a horrible accident’.

Kirsten shook her head.

‘I don’t believe that and neither do you!’ she said, ‘It was The Phantom! You heard him! That awful laugh!’

She hastily wiped her eyes.

‘Edward, I’m-I’m just so scared! All this horror!’

She couldn’t stop the tears anymore and on instinct, Ed pulled her close. She went stiff for a moment at the unexpected contact but then Ed felt her relax and begin to weep into his shoulder. When he felt her begin to calm down, Ed drew back and looked at her seriously.

‘Miss Kring…Kristen. I’ll protect you’, Ed swore.

‘You can’t promise that’, she said.

‘Yes I can!’ he insisted, ‘I can promise to share every waking moment with you and go with you anywhere you want!’

‘You really mean it, don’t you?’ Kristen asked, eyes wide with wonder.

‘Of course I do!’ Ed exclaimed.

‘Say you love me’, Kristen commanded.

‘I do!’ Ed said then finally confessed the secret that had been burning inside him for months, ‘I love you Kristen!’

From his hidden position behind one of the large statues on the roof, Oswald felt as if his heart had stopped when he heard Ed.  
No. This was all wrong!  
Didn’t Ed see Oswald was the one he was meant to be with?!  
Could he not see Flass’ death as the gift it was?! Oswald could stand the man talking about him but once he had turned his poisonous tongue on Ed, Oswald had been forced to take steps.  
He had even risked being caught by venturing out in the middle of a performance!  
He had wanted to show everyone in that audience that he loved Edward Nygma!

He heard Ed and Kristen leave, the idiotic woman chittering away excitedly about something. When he was sure he was alone, Oswald left his place of safety and noticed the rose that had been attached to Ed’s jacket had fallen onto the roof.

 _‘She was bound to love him when she heard him sing’_ , Oswald thought sorrowfully, _‘Just like I did’._

His tears fell freely as he clasped the rose, trying to purge himself of his heartache. Then, slowly, deliberately, he crushed it between his fingers before callously throwing the ruined stalk down to be buried in the falling snow.

 

**  
Despite the splendour and giddy atmosphere of the annual masquerade ball, Ed was finding it hard to enjoy himself.  
It had been two months since he had last heard from Oswald. The mirror entrance had been sealed tight and Ed was getting worried.  
Perhaps he was sick? Or dead even?

Or he could be overreacting and Oswald had perhaps just gone on a trip? There was no reason he couldn’t leave the opera house after all, even if he did have a distaste for being seen in public.  
Ed, out of politeness, had never asked about the mask: people often wore them to hide awful scars or deformities. If Oswald was wearing a mask, it was for a good reason and Ed was sure when he was ready he would tell him.  
They were friends after all.

Something glinting in his peripheral vision caught his eye.

‘Please put it away Kristen’, he said.

Kristen frowned at Ed’s plea. She had been admiring her extravagant engagement ring in the light but was now annoyed she had to hide it back beneath the neck of her dress. It was hanging on a dull cheap looking chain which she resented already and Ed could tell she was becoming more and more exasperated with his desire for secrecy. 

‘But why keep our engagement secret?’ she asked, ‘What have we to hide?’

She got up on her tiptoes to kiss him but Ed held her shoulders gently to stop her.  
The answer was simple: Ed wanted Oswald to be the first to know something so important and special. After all, it was thanks to his encouragement that Ed had told Kristen how he felt to begin with.

‘Not here Kristen, please they’ll see’.

‘Let them see!’ Kristen snapped, ‘It’s an engagement, not a crime. Edward what are you afraid of?’

‘Let’s not argue. Please pretend? For me?’

Kristen tutted but begrudgingly tucked the ring away.

‘I hope you explain this to me one day’, she muttered.

‘I will’, Ed said, kissing her hand, ‘I promise’.

She rolled her eyes and took his arm, putting on a smile for the photographers and reporters in the hall as they entered.  
Ed made a mental note to make it up to her later.

Suddenly there was a thunderous crash and there were alarmed screams as the candles around the hall sputtered and nearly died. The dancers stopped dead in their tracks and all eyes were drawn to an apparition that had seemingly materialized out of nowhere at the top of the large spiral staircase in the centre of the room.  
Ed gasped as he saw it was Oswald but dressed in an extravagant costume: a red jacket and trousers, a cape of black feathers and he had forsaken his usual white mask for one designed to resembled a weathered bird skull.  
Spurs on his boots clinked as he began to descend the staircase.

‘Why so silent friends?’ he asked, ‘You know who I am. I bring you a gift’.

Reaching into his cloak, he pulled out a leather folder and flung it forwards. It burst open on the stairs and Ed saw it was an opera score.

‘A new opera! But before rehearsals start I thought I should speak to your new star, Mr Edward Nygma’, Oswald declared, ‘Because of course, nobody else will do for the main part!’

The crowd turned collectively to look at Ed. He felt surrounded by a sea of fantastical creatures thanks to the multitude of different masks. He removed his own domino mask to better see Oswald.

‘No doubt he’ll do his best!’ Oswald continued, ‘He knows his voice is good but should he wish to excel, he still has a lot to learn. If pride will let him return to me: his teacher’.

Ed tried to ignore the collective gasp that rippled throughout the crowd. The look of shock on Kristen’s face was much harder to ignore but he and Oswald only had eyes for each other.  
They advanced towards each other, Oswald taking care as he descended the staircase.  
But as they drew close, Kristen interposed herself between them, holding a hand on Ed’s chest protectively.

‘Stay back you monster!’ she hissed at Oswald.

Oswald’s eyes widened with rage both at the word and at the bauble he had spotted glinting around Kristen’s neck.  
With lightning speed, one long fingered hand darted out and grabbed the chain. Kristen gave a cry. The chain snapped as Oswald yanked it back. He grasped the engagement ring in one gloved fist and shook it at Kristen threateningly. 

‘He belongs to me!’ Oswald growled and with a sweep of his cape, vanished into a cloud of smoke.

The crowd gasped anew as the smoke began to fill the room but Ed was not as taken aback by Oswald’s tricks.  
He knew how most of them worked now.  
He leapt into the hole that had opened beneath Oswald in the floor in pursuit but found himself in a damp corridor. Yet another secret tunnel.  
Oswald was gone.  
But Ed was not alone.  
Gertrud beckoned to him, illuminated by the candelabra she held in one hand.

 

**  
‘You’re his mother’, Ed said, accepting the tea Gertrud was pressing into his hands.

She nodded as she absent-mindedly adjusted some photographs. Ed identified one of them as a young Oswald immediately even though his adult self wore a mask. Those eyes were unmistakeable.  
They were in her room: bigger than Edward’s, it was bedecked with doilies and nick-nacks as well as old ballet memorabilia. 

‘I told him to stay away tonight but he could not stay away’, Gertrud said, ‘He said he had to see you. He finish his masterwork finally. You see it?’

Ed nodded and reflected on Oswald’s savage reaction to the engagement ring.

‘You told them to give me the part because of him didn’t you?’

‘I know you are a good boy’, Gertrud said, smiling maternally, ‘And you save my Oswald like baby bird fallen from nest. I want to do something for you to repay you then he tell me you want to sing in front of the crowd. So, when Oswald said you were ready, I made it happen’.

‘Why does he hide his face Gertrud?’ Ed asked.

Gertrud shook her head sadly.

‘My Oswald is so handsome but he does not see himself that way! He hides from the world because it is cruel to him. But he is a genius! He is an architect and designer, a composer and magician. A _genius!_ ’

‘Wait, there’s nothing wrong with his face?’

Gertrud shook her head.  
Ed had read about the condition in the library. Body dysmorphic disorder.  
Even though there was nothing wrong with Oswald’s face, his own brain told him otherwise, driving him to hide it behind the bird like mask.

How much did Oswald hate himself to hide away from everyone?  
To exist as a ghost rather than be seen by other living human beings? To conceal himself and his talents in darkness out of fear of being exposed and vulnerable?  
It was sad.  
Despite Oswald’s heinous acts, Ed felt only pity for him in that moment. A kinship forged from mutual isolation and the fear of being seen as ‘strange’ or ‘different’ from ‘normal’ people.  
Oswald had never treated him like that. He had helped him.  
And, judging from his reaction to the engagement ring, felt something much stronger for Ed than friendship.

‘Is it genius?’ Ed wondered aloud, ‘Or madness?’

Gertrud didn’t answer.  
She simply poured him another cup of tea.

 

**  
‘Kristen please don’t make me do this’, Ed begged.

Kristen had explained the plan to him in detail. She and the managers had cooked it up in secret and were already mobilising the GCPD.  
Oswald’s appearance at the masquerade ball had been the last straw.  
Up until now, nobody was sure The Phantom had truly existed but now they had seen him in the flesh, the management were not prepared to allow a known murderer to roam freely beneath their feet.  
Their scheme was to perform The Phantom’s opera he had ‘delivered’ at the masquerade ball. Unable to resist seeing his masterpiece performed, The Phantom would emerge from hiding and would be swiftly apprehended by the GCPD officers who would be hidden amongst the audience.  
The only part of the plan they were missing was Edward.  
The bait.

‘He’s a murderer Edward!’ Kristen snapped.

Ed knew why she was angry with him. She refused to believe Ed’s claim that he didn’t know where the Phantom was hiding. Ed didn’t blame her: being with Dougherty had made her very good at identifying blatant lies when she heard them. Ed just couldn’t bring himself to give Oswald up.  
Yes, he had done horrible things but so had Ed.  
The difference was The Phantom had the courage to own up to his actions.

Kristen was also angry at the loss of her engagement ring and ‘being made a fool of’ in front of everyone at the masquerade ball. Now that she knew the identity of Ed’s mystery mentor, she had grown to resent Ed’s success and had made no secret to Ed of her new theory that The Phantom had killed Dougherty to ‘clear the way’ for his new prize pupil. 

‘It’s my fault he’s acting like this’, Ed said, ‘It’s a misunderstanding! If-if I could just talk to-’

Kristen silenced him with a finger on his lips.

‘Edward, do you love me?’

‘You know I do!’

She kissed him deeply.

‘Edward. Don’t think that I don’t care. But every hope and prayer rests on you now. Do the right thing. For us’.

Ed nodded, self loathing and guilt flooding into him when he saw Kristen smile with triumph.

 

**  
Kristen strained against the shackles binding her to the wall of the lair.

‘So, here’s a puzzle for you Ed’, Oswald said, cocking the hammer on the gun, ‘Spend your days with me or send her to her grave? Your choice’.

‘Why make him lie to you?!’ Kristen yelled, ‘It’s pointless! He doesn’t love you and you know it!’

Ed ran his fingers through his hair in sheer frustration.  
The plan had backfired spectacularly.

During the performance, Oswald had managed to replace one of the chorus members on stage. The cast had been expecting this (after all everyone was instructed to wear masks as part of their costumes) and continued the performance as though nothing was amiss.  
Ed and Kristen had begun their duet accordingly but as the chorus had twirled around them in pairs as per the choreography, Ed had detected a presence behind him and realised he and Kristen were not alone in the circle.

 _‘Say you’ll share with me one love, one lifetime’,_ Oswald sang, voice carrying easily over the quiet music, _‘Lead me, save me from my solitude. Say you want me with you here beside you’._

Oswald had clasped his hand and Ed had turned on his heel, taken aback by the emotion in Oswald’s usually controlled voice. Despite the threatening situation, he couldn’t help but realise this was probably the first time anyone had ever heard Oswald sing or seen him out in the open.  
And it was in one of his own pieces.  
That was why Oswald was here. Why he had given them the opera in the first place.  
This was Oswald’s moment.  
And he wanted to share it with Ed.

 _‘Anywhere you go, let me go too!’_ Oswald sang rapturously, declaring his love for all assembled to hear, _‘Edward, that’s all I ask of-‘_

Ed hadn’t seen Kristen grab at Oswald’s face until it was too late.  
She ripped his mask off and held it high in triumph.  
Oswald’s scream of horror rang in Ed’s ears as did the look on his face.  
His unblemished, perfect face contorted with anger as he kicked out and struck the lever built into the stage.  
The three of them had dropped into the darkness below as the audience had begun to cry out above them.

When Ed had awoken, they were in the lair.  
Ed had been worried that Oswald had not bothered to replace his mask. His fears had been well founded when he had seen Oswald had a gun and Kristen chained to the wall.  
He could also hear shouts and screams of horror echoing from above them and realised Oswald must have done something more than abduct them. He could smell smoke in the air and hear sirens.  
Oswald obviously felt he had nothing to lose.  
But still, impossibly, Ed couldn’t hate him.

He looked at Oswald and didn’t see The Phantom. He saw a small, thin limbed man, underfed and pale. His face was reddened with a multitude of emotions: anger, spite and hatred but also a deep sadness and a desperate, longing for Ed to tell him he cared about him.  
Ed couldn’t be angry at that.  
He had felt it himself.  
And he too had done horrible things out of a desire for love.  
They were the same.

_‘Pitiful creature of darkness. What kind of life have you known?’_

Ed began to approach Oswald carefully.  
Oswald’s eyes widened as he realised Ed was singing to him.

 _‘God give me courage to show you that you’re not alone’_ , Ed finished, taking Oswald’s face in his hands.

He kissed him.

It was everything Oswald had ever dreamed it would be.  
Which was why it broke his heart.  
He was being so selfish!  
The only reason Ed had kissed him was to save someone else.  
He couldn’t keep him down in the dark to wither away! It wasn’t right!

Ed was having a different realization.  
Had Oswald’s eyes always been so breathtakingly pale? They reflected the flames around them like glass: a light burning in the depths of the sea.  
How had he never noticed before?  
Compared to all that fire, Kristen seemed pale and watered down: a wilting flower. Had he really once thought she was so beautiful?  
What was she aside from a pretty face? What did they have in common?  
Ed had thought he had known the answers to those questions but now, looking at Oswald and Oswald looking up at him with those beautiful eyes, he had the uneasy feeling he was making the wrong choice.

‘Take her’, Oswald whispered.

Ed looked confused and his eyes widened as Oswald suddenly pushed him away. The gun fell from Oswald’s fingers and he kicked it behind him.

‘Forget me’, he choked, tears streaming down his face, ‘Forget all of this!’

Oswald pushed the lever back the other way.  
Kristen sighed in relief as she was released from her shackles, rubbing her chafed wrists.  
Ed made to run towards her but his eyes remained fixed on Oswald, even as he brushed past him.

‘Go now!’ Oswald yelled, angry at Ed’s lack of movement, ‘Go now and leave me!’

Ed opened his mouth to say something (anything!) but a gunshot suddenly rang out.  
He saw Oswald crumple, hands gripping his stomach.  
Ed turned around just in time to see Kristen throw Oswald’s gun into the lake. She must have grabbed it while Oswald had been distracted.  
By Ed.

‘Now’s our chance!’ Kristen shouted, ‘Come on Edward!’

Ed didn’t move.  
Oswald looked up at him, tears streaming down his face but then averted his eyes, curling in on himself as he tried to breathe through the pain.

Kristen, losing patience, grabbed Ed and dragged him behind her as she ran towards the waiting boat.  
When she felt Ed stop in his tracks, she gave another insistent tug, only to nearly overbalance as Ed yanked his hand out of her grip.

‘Kristen’, he said, his voice incongruously calm amongst the screams from above them, ‘There’s something I need to tell you’.

‘We need to get away from that monster first!’

‘He’s not a monster!’ Ed snapped.

Kristen looked shocked before her face became angry.

‘Whatever you have to say can wait!’ she snapped as she began to step into the boat, ‘Maybe you and he really deserve each other!’

‘No. It can’t’, Ed said, taking hold of her shoulder to stop her moving, ‘And maybe we do. I need to tell you about Dougherty’.

 

**  
‘You came back’, Oswald wheezed.

Ed knew it wasn’t a question.

‘There has to be another way out of here!’ he yelled, ‘Where is it?!’

Oswald nodded weakly towards one of the full length mirrors adorning the wall. Ed understood and picked up a large ornate candle stick as he strode towards it. He swung the candlestick and the mirror shattered revealing a dark tunnel beyond. He felt fresh air on his face.  
Ed helped Oswald up, supporting him under the arm and began to steer him towards the mirror and freedom.

Finally able to see Ed’s face properly, Oswald’s eyes widened at the vivid red scratch marks on Ed’s cheek. They were bleeding. 

‘What happened to your face?’ he asked, gasping in pain as Ed helped him keep his balance on the wet stones beneath their feet.

‘Nothing I didn’t deserve’, Ed replied, focusing on the task at hand, ‘Move with me Oswald! Come on!’

 

**  
There was chaos in the streets when they finally emerged out of a sewer tunnel beside the river.  
Ed’s head swivelled left and right as he frantically debated where to go. The GCPD would probably be in the lair by now. They didn’t have much of a lead and Oswald was going nowhere fast.  
He felt Oswald tap him and saw he was pointing towards a boat tethered nearby.  
Ed understood and helped Oswald lay on the bottom of the boat before untying it. Taking the oars he began to row down the river.  
Looking behind him, he saw smoke rising and realised the opera house was ablaze. 

‘The… chandelier’, Oswald said quietly through hoarse breaths, ‘I cut…it down’.

Ed was surprised to feel no regret at Oswald's words. Maybe it was because he had never really belonged there anyway.

‘Let me see’, Ed said, putting one oar down to reach for Oswald’s shirt.

‘I’m alright’.

‘Let. Me. See’.

Oswald, seeing Ed was in no mood for argument, unbuttoned his shirt. 

Ed saw the bullet hadn’t reached Oswald at all.  
It had become embedded in a thick, padded leather vest Oswald had been wearing beneath his shirt.

‘You knew the opera was a trap all along?’ Ed asked.

Oswald nodded.

‘Once we get to the bay…my mother will be waiting for me’, he said, ‘Time for us to leave Gotham for a while I think’.

‘But, I don’t understand, if you knew it was a trap, why risk it?’

Oswald smiled gently up at Ed.

 _‘You alone can make my song take flight’,_ Oswald sang slowly in reply, _‘It’s over now, the music of the night’._

Ed felt a lump form in his throat.

‘Where are you planning to go?’ he asked.

‘Anywhere’, Oswald replied, ‘As long as you’ll come with me’.

Ed took Oswald’s hand and marvelled at how warm it was despite the chilly night air. He realised Oswald had put something into his palm.  
Opening it, he saw it was the engagement ring Oswald had taken from Kristen.

‘I’ve always wanted to go there’, he said with a smile as he put it on his finger.


End file.
